


One of the Happy Ones

by Inofaro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Genderfluid Draco Malfoy, Misunderstandings, Multi, Overall this is a fluffy story, Romantic Comedy, Trans Female Character, Very Minor Internalized Transmisogyny, aka lots of trans OCs, but it's not magically resolved by some cis guy aka Harry don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 10:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inofaro/pseuds/Inofaro
Summary: I, Draco Malfoy, serve Harry Potter food and drinks and pretty, coy little smiles every Friday night when he comes in at seven on the dot.He comes in with his best mate, Ronald Weasley, and the two sit at the bar watching the game. Well, Weasley is, at least. Harry seems rather more interested in watching me instead.And one would think that this would be the perfect opportunity to act on my massive, years long crush on the man who saved the Wizarding World, but there’s one problem.“Darlia!” Potter pushes the door open and immediately comes up to me and kisses my hand. “Happy Friday. You’re looking as beautiful as usual.”He only knows me as Darlia, the Muggle barmaid at the Italian pub, The Mayden.In his mind, Draco Malfoy is the cis man who he’s been out of contact with for years. And I don’t plan on disproving him anytime soon.





	One of the Happy Ones

I, Draco Malfoy, serve Harry Potter food and drinks and pretty, coy little smiles every Friday night when he comes in at seven on the dot. 

He comes in with his best mate, Ronald Weasley, and the two sit at the bar watching the game. Well, Weasley is, at least. Harry seems rather more interested in watching  _ me  _ instead.

And one would think that this would be the perfect opportunity to act on my massive, years long crush on the man who saved the Wizarding World, but there’s one problem.

“Darlia!” Potter pushes the door open and immediately comes up to me and kisses my hand. “Happy Friday. You’re looking as beautiful as usual.”

He only knows me as Darlia, the Muggle barmaid at the Italian pub,  _ The Mayden.  _

In his mind, Draco Malfoy is the cis man who he’s been out of contact with for years. And I don’t plan on disproving him anytime soon.

 

My agonizing predicament is all his fault, really. There was no reason for him to step in through the front door all those months ago, eager to experience authentic Muggle culture. Surely he doesn’t  _ have  _ to come in dressed to the nines, his hair coiffed, shoes shined, his “sexy Hogwarts professor” air growing by the week. And there is  _ definitely no excuse  _ for him to act nice to the other girls but focus on Draco especially.

“Glad to see you back, Mr. Potter.” I flash him a cheeky smile. “Did you bring a gift for me today?”

“Oh! Yes!” He reaches into his cross-shoulder bag and pulls out a piece of cloth. He presses it into my hands. “Here you are. I hope you like it.”

I look down. It’s a silk bandana - yellow with little blue flowers embroidered on the edges. “It’s beautiful. Would you like a kiss for payment?” I flutter my eyelashes at him and he blushes.

“Of course, Darlia.”

I kiss him. He hasn’t shaved in a day or two, but I don’t mind the scruff.

“Oi, get a room already.” Weasley butts in while heading toward the bar to take a seat on his favorite stool.

Harry’s blushes deepens, and I grin.

Oh, who am I kidding. There’s no reason I should flirt back, encouraging him, but I do it anyways because I love digging my own damn grave. 

“Take a seat boys, I hope you’re ready for a good thrashing tonight.” I move behind the bar and begin preparing their drinks - their regular: a gin and tonic for Potter and a classic mead for Weasley.

“Hey! Ireland’s going to come back one of these days!”

A fellow patron at the other end of the bar raises his glass. “Cheers to that, mate.”

“Thank you!”

“See, Darlia? Not everyone’s a sceptic like you.” A coworker of mine, a sprightly young woman named Ann, says through the crack in the door to the employee’s lockers. 

“Shut up and get changed, Ann,” I quip back.

Potter leans forward. “Why do you work here if you hate Ireland, Darlia?”

Even behind his glasses, his eyes are as piercing as ever. I can’t help flushing a little under the scrutiny. “Why do you come to a football pub every week if you have no interest in the sport? And you can’t say it’s for Mr. Weasley.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “It’s fun, I guess. Fun to watch everyone get riled up over it.”

“Exactly. I love the chaos.”

He laughs, a beautiful sound. “And I respect that.”

Ann, finally changed, exits the locker room. “Do you have a hair tie?” She asks me. I nod and give her the one I always keep on my wrist. She looks at it dubiously. “I apologize in advance if it snaps. It’s a little thin.” She begins tying her braids into a bun.

“It’s alright. I’ve got plenty where that came from.”

We begin bustling around the bar together - mixing drinks and periodically going into the kitchen to carry food out. I am constantly aware of the pair of eyes on my back, but I try to put it out of my mind. No point in getting all hot and bothered at work.

Ireland loses, as expected, which devastates Weasley, who, by the end of the night, has his head in his arms. What is with that guy and always picking the worst teams to root for?

Weasley and Potter stay right up until closing, which is fairly usual for them. The only reason my boss, the formidable woman known as Ingrid, doesn’t kick them out, is because she’s always been a little soft on the dumb ones. 

I’m in the locker room getting out of uniform with a few of the other girls, when a knock comes at the door. 

Gracie, a brunette with killer eyebrows, giggles. “Your gentleman caller’s here, Darlia.”

I roll my eyes and open the door and step out and there he is: handsome as ever. “Yes?”

“Have you thought about what I said last week?”

Yes. “No. I’m sorry Mr. Potter, but I’m a busy woman. What is it that you are referring to?”

He’s red again. Merlin, it’s such an irresistible color on him. “I asked you out on a date, and you told me you’d think about it. So I’m here to ask you again.”

“Ah, that.”

“You are completely free to say no,” he says, looking slightly pained.

“Yeah. No.” I turn to go back inside. “Sorry, Mr. Potter. Maybe try again next week.” And with a wink, I disappear back inside and am immediately faced with four of my sisters bearing down on me.

“Darlia!” Ann hisses, “How could you?”

Gracie’s got her ear pressed to the door. “Do you think he’ll take me as a rebound?”

Terrence’s still seated at the staff table, smoking her cigarette. “You know you deserve better Gracie.”

Pouting, Gracie pushes herself off the door and dives straight into Terrence’s lap. “I’m just kidding! You know I wouldn’t do that to our Darlia.” Terrence chuckles and they share a kiss.

Vanessa cracks the door open a little and peeks outside. “They’ve gone.” Then she rounds on me, her hands on her hips, “What’s your problem, Darlia? Everyone and their mother knows that you’ve been pining after him for months, and when he finally confesses you turn him down?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is!”

I sigh and pretend to rummage through my work bag. “It’s really not. He doesn’t know who I really am, for starters.”

Ann sits next to me, frowning. “That’s what you’re talking about? Oh, Darlia.”

“He’ll understand. How could he not? His best mate’s wife is like us. He’ll at least have  _ some  _ idea,” Vanessa says, placing a hand on my shoulder. 

Granger had come with her husband and best friend to the pub a month or two ago, and all the girls had immediately taken a liking to her, for fairly obvious reasons. She was even offered a position, which she turned down. 

“It’s....not just that. And  _ knowing  _ about it is different than really getting involved.” 

The girls are silent for a moment. 

It’s Terrence who speaks next, “Darlia, you won’t know until you let the guy in. Give your happiness a chance already.” She grounds her burnt out cigarette into the ashtray and stands up. “Come on, Gracie, let’s get out of here.”

“What would you like for dinner, dear?” Gracie replies brightly. She follows Terrence out, chattering all the way. 

Vanessa follows soon afterwards with slight wave, and Ann is halfway out the door before she turns around and says, “Darlia, you know that, if there’s fallout, we’ll be here for you, right?”

I nod, lost in thought.

“Good. Because that’s a promise. Sisters stick together.” And with that, she’s gone. 

  
  


Potter doesn’t show up the next week. Neither does Weasley, even though Ireland’s playing again. I try not to think to deeply into it. I hope no one recognizes the yellow bandana I've used to tie my hair up today.

“Sometimes it happens,” I tell Ann under my breath while drying glasses. “They don’t always come every week.”

“Yeah, well, it seems this week they have a particular reason not to, right?” She slides a glass of whiskey over to a patron at the bar. “Here you are, ma’am.”

I sigh. There’s no getting through to her. 

I’m sure Potter has his reasons. Maybe they’re at some fancy Ministry function, playing their role as the Golden Trio with Granger. Or maybe they’ve decided to take a Friday night meal at home, for once. Or maybe Potter’s on a date.

My hand slips and the knife slices into my index a bit. I look around to confirm that no one’s watching before reaching into my pocket and whispering, “Episkey.” The injury heals, but the sting somehow stays. 

  
  


The next day, I decide to run some errands in Hogsmeade. _The Mayden_ and the apartment I’m renting are actually in a Muggle town not too far from the Wizarding town, so it’s quite convenient for me. I can tread the line between the Muggle and Wizarding worlds with ease. 

And it’s just my damned luck that the one weekend I’m feeling more Draco than Darlia that, as I’m reaching toward a Stomach Tonic, a familiar, worn hand grabs the exact bottle I’d been aiming for. 

“Oh, sorry! Here-” He stops short. As expected. I force a smile.

“That’s alright. You can keep it. There are plenty more I can choose from.” To prove my point, I grab the bottle right behind the one he just took. 

“Malfoy?”

My little innocent act isn’t working. Damn. “That’s my name.” One of them, anyways. 

“Draco Malfoy?”

“Don’t wear it out.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Buying a Stomach Tonic, like you.”

“No-er-I mean-”

“Potter,” I cut in, putting him out of his misery. “Do you have a problem with me?”

“Well-no.”

“Good. Have a nice day.” I go to check out and practically run out of the store when I’m done. I’m looking around for a potential hiding place when I hear the jingle of the doorbell behind me.

“Malfoy, wait.”

I turn around and get a good look at him. Still tall. Still broad-shouldered. Still rugged-yet-handsome - exactly how I like it. Damn him. “Yes?”

“Let me buy you a drink.”

“It’s the middle of the day, Potter.”

“Tonight, then. What do you say?”

I pretend to think.

“Please, Malfoy. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Maybe it’s because he didn’t come in yesterday. Maybe it’s because he asked so nicely. Maybe there’s a small, secret part of me that actually wants him to get to know  _ Draco _ Malfoy. But before I know it, I’ve agreed.

 

We meet at the entrance to Hogsmeade later that day, because he insisted on Side-Alonging me to the mystery drink location. “You’ll love it, Malfoy. It’s a fantastic place.”

As soon as we arrive, I can’t help blurting out, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

In front of us stands the oh-so-familiar stone building with the oh-so-familiar wooden sign above the oh-so-familiar front door, sporting the oh-so-familiar name:  _ The Mayden.  _

Potter looks like a kicked puppy. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it?”

“Oh no, no,” I say, trying to backpedal. “It’s-uh. A friend of mine recommended the place to me a while back. I was...surprised at the coincidence, that’s all.”

Brow furrowed, Potter doesn’t look convinced, but pretends to be anyways: “Er...alright. Well, anyways, I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

We walk inside and Potter leads me to a small table in the corner. Ann and Vanessa are on the clock today, and the latter walks up to us to take our order. 

I know they recognize me - sometimes I come to work as Draco and have to change, and sometimes I come already presenting as Darlia. I hope they know that, if they say anything, they’re dead.

I try to convey this murderous sentiment with my eyes, but Vanessa smartly avoids it and instead smiles sweetly at Potter. “Mr. Potter, so nice to see you back. You didn’t come yesterday, did you?”

“No, I’m afraid I had some business to attend to. Is-uh-is Darlia here?” He looks at me. “Darlia is my favourite waitress. Sorry, Vanessa.”

Favourite waitress. What a dumb, sappy git.

“No offence taken at all,” she says with a smirk, “and no, she’s got the weekend off.”

“Oh. That’s a shame.”

“But I see you’ve brought a  _ friend,”  _ Vanessa says, turning the attention towards me. The bitch.

Potter covers my hand with his, sending shivers up and down my spine. “This is Draco Malfoy, a friend of mine from school. I just happened to bump into him today and wanted to catch up.”

Vanessa extends a hand toward me, and I take it and squeeze. “N-nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy. I’m Vanessa.” she gets out through the pain.

“Likewise, Ms. Vanessa.” I release her hand and she breathes a sigh of relief. I can see Potter looking between us out of the corner of my eye.

“Well what would you two like to get started on today?”

We order - Potter, his usual, and me mine - and are finally left alone. Well, save for the piercing stares of Ann and Vanessa from the bar. And occasionally I notice Gracie linger a little too long outside the kitchen after bringing out dishes.

“So, Potter, you do know what kind of place this is, right?”

“Er-yes? It’s an Italian sports pub. Why?”

I lean forward. “I’m sure you know what I mean. This isn’t any ordinary pub.”

He stiffens up and his mouth does a funny little wiggle. “Malfoy, don’t tell me…”

Got him.

“...you’re  _ transphobic? _ ”

“I-wha-”

“These women are proper women, you know that? They’re hard workers and genuine and just  _ good people,  _ and if you can’t handle that then maybe we should call this off.”

“I didn’t-This isn’t-”

“Wow, Malfoy, I didn’t take you to be the type. I thought you were gay!”

“Potter wait-”

“Well, I suppose even members of the community can be ignorant…” he muses to himself.

“Potter! Listen to me!”

The rest of the patrons turn and give us looks. Ann has her eyebrows drawn and Vanessa’s got a smug smile on her face.

Potter’s mouth swings shut and stays that way.

“That’s not what I meant!” My voice has gone up approximately five octaves. “I’m perfectly fine with the women. I-just-ugh.” I run my hands through my hair. “Nevermind. Let’s drop it, okay?”

“Okay…” Potter says slowly; he drops it, but I sense he still has his doubts.

Get it together, Malfoy! How the hell have you convinced him that you, a trans-feminine person, are transmisogynistic?!

The food turns out to be a welcome interruption - Vanessa comes bearing two platters piled high with food, and before she leaves she mouths at me:  _ You fuck this up, I keep him.  _

Great. I’m already halfway through planning Potter and Vanessa’s future wedding - everything down to the bridesmaids’ dress colors - when Potter speaks up.

“So, Malfoy, what have you been up to?”

“Oh, uh, I’m working in the Muggle world now.”

“Oh really? Where, if I may ask?”

Mumbling, I start stabbing at my roasted potatoes instead of meeting his gaze. “You know, here and there. Odd jobs. Service jobs.”

“I see.”

“And you? Professor at Hogwarts now, aren’t you?”

He blushes. “Yeah. Defense Against Dark Arts. Pretty much as expected.”

I let out a whistle. “Good for you.”

The conversation peters out a bit, and we both wisely choose to focus on our food as an excuse.

“How’s Weasley? And Granger?”

Potter nearly chokes on his water, and spends some time coughing before answering. “They’re fine, thanks. I didn’t know you still thought about them.”

“I don’t. I’m just trying to make conversation, Potter.”

“Ah. Sorry to get in your way, then.” He flashes me a wicked smile.

“You should be sorry. Frankly, I’m doing all the legwork here and you’d better pick up the slack before this salt shaker outshines you.” I pick up the salt shaker in question. “Isn’t Potter a strange one? He makes every conversation as dry as a bone, which really should be  _ your  _ job.” I shake it up and down and listen to the quiet  _ shh shh  _ of the salt sliding on the inside as if it's speaking to me. “Yes, yes, you’re quite right. See, Potter? That’s how you do it.”

When I look back at the git, there’s a huge smile stretched across his face, and his eyes are twinkly behind his stupid looking glasses. “Damn, I wish Darlia were here.”

I deflate a little at that. Only a little.

“She would love you.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“You two are…very compatible. Very similar.”

I stay silent, staring at my food. I have nothing to say.

“You’d love her too, I think. She’s a fantastic woman.”

“What, you’ve got a crush or something?”

He reddens slightly. “Well, yeah. Kind of.”

“What do you even see in her?”

Potter sits back in his chair and sighs. Slowly, his fingers trace circles on the table, seemingly following the grain of the wood. “She’s just got this...I don’t know- _ aura  _ around her. And it just screams that she’s capable and independent and smart. But she still treats everyone with respect even when she’s not working.” 

I push around the rice on my plate.

“And even if she doesn’t feel the same way about me, I’d be happy being her friend, too. I don’t know. She just seems like a special person - one that, if I let go of, in forty-years I’d be hitting myself thinking:  _ dammit Harry! Why’d you let the perfect woman get away like that?”  _

When I stand up, my chair lets out an ear-piercing shriek as it grinds against the stone floor. I throw my napkin onto the table. Potter’s looking at me, the other patrons are looking at me, hell-I think that’s Indrid standing in the corner, looking at me. 

“Well I hope you’re happy with her, whoever she turns out to be. ‘Perfect,’ or whatever.” 

And I storm out.

Childish, I know. But I have never claimed to be anything else.

The alley behind the building has proved to be a reliable place to cry in peace, so I go there, lean up against the wall, and take out a cigarette. It’s a brutish, Muggle habit, so I only smoke in extreme emergencies. I believe this qualifies perfectly.

The back door of the pub creaks as it opens slowly. Vanessa pops her head out, followed by Ann and Indrid soon afterwards. And I swear I see Terrence and Gracie watching through the misted window. 

“Darlia, sweetie-oh-is Darlia okay?”

I nod, taking a deep puff.

“I’m sorry, Darlia. Did I do too much?” Vanessa’s a sweet girl, but can be a little brutal at times. She once made Gracie cry after she dropped a full pot of soup, spilling it all over the kitchen floor. But she was apologetic afterwards, and has been nothing be nice to Gracie since.

“No. It was my fault.”

Ann takes my hand and begins rubbing little circles into my palm. “Are you alright?”

Indrid pipes up, “Does that boy need a talking to?”

“No, no. Seriously, it’s fine. It really was my fault. Got all worked up over  _ nothing.”  _ To my surprise, tears spring to my eyes, and try as I might, I can’t blink them away.

Ann wipes at them with a handkerchief from her apron pocket. “There there. I’m sure it’s fine. He didn’t look angry at all when you left. Just confused.”

“No, you don’t understand. He’s never going to like Draco as much as he likes Darlia. He’s straight! He’ll never understand. And I-” My voice wobbles against my will. “I can’t hide the Draco from him. God, I wish I could. Then my life would be so much easier and I-”

“Darlia!” Vanessa grabs my shoulder. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you  _ dare. _ ”

“But it’s true! I’m so tired of having to explain. ‘Oh, sorry mate, but sometimes I’m a man and sometimes I’m a woman and sometimes I’m both and sometimes I’m neither and you’re just going to have to put up with me in every conceivable form and-’” I stop, and sigh. Ash falls from my cigarette, which has gone mostly unsmoked. 

“Darlia.” My eyes snap up to meet Indrid’s. Her eyes are stern, but warm with a motherly love. “I know you don’t actually believe that. You don’t need us to tell you that it’s all a crock of horseshit. And you certainly don’t need that boy to tell you, either.” She turns to go back inside. “You better sort this emo shit out before you come back on Monday, and I mean it. I want a happy story to tell my kids at bedtime.” 

The door clangs shut, and almost immediately afterwards, there’s a loud  _ bang  _ and a whispered  _ fuck _ from the opposite end of the alley. 

“Who’s there?” I call out.

After a few seconds of silence, the culprit walks into view with his hands up. “Sorry-I-this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Potter. How much did you hear?”

He winces, but to his credit, tells the truth. “Pretty much everything.”

“Come here,” I say, gesturing to him with a hook of my fingers.

“Guess this is our cue to leave,” Ann whispers to Vanessa, and after a final look back at me with their thumbs up, they disappear back into the pub.

Potter walks up to me and leans on the wall of the alley next to me, our arms barely touching. He doesn’t speak.

“So. Now you know. That your darling _‘Darlia’_ is me.” I bark out a laugh. “How does it feel to be lied to, Potter?”

He mumbles something inaudible.

“What’s that?”

Louder, he says, “I wasn’t lied to.”

“What are you talking about? I lied to you. I deceived you. I purposefully  _hid_ something from you.”

“No!” It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him raise his voice - at least since Hogwarts. A little softer, he clarifies, “It wasn’t a lie and it wasn’t deception. Maybe the part about you being  _ Draco Malfoy  _ was hidden from me, but that’s all.”

“Hmph.” I turn my head from him, and crush the cigarette under my heel. “Ever the Saint, huh, Potter?”

“This doesn’t change anything.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m serious.”

“Sure.”

Potter sighs deeply. “Bum me one?” He asks, nodding toward the half-smoked, burnt out cigarette at my foot. I oblige. “ _ Incendio,”  _ he speaks with his mouth around the thing and his wand nowhere in sight. The end begins smoking. 

Goddamn him and his (literally) hot, wandless magic.

“I really am dead serious, though. You may not believe me, the way I see it is this: I’ve got more of you to love, now.”

I still, my heart stomping in my throat.

“More of you to get to know, to cherish.” The smoke he blows from his mouth rises lazily. “Sorry I’m being cheesy. I’m just so... _ happy. _ ”

“Pardon?”

“Happy! I’m happy, and how couldn’t I be? I’ve just learned the woman I’ve been crushing over for months and the man I’ve been in love with for  _ years  _ are the  _ same person! _ ” 

He’s got that big, dumb smile on his face again, and this time, I don’t hold myself back; I grab his shirt collar, pull him close, and-

And-

Merlin. “Do you have to be a good kisser too?” I complain when we break.

“Shut up, you git,” He replies with a smile in his voice, pulling me in for more.

 

As Indrid’s two young kids - ages five and eight - tumble into bed, they reach their arms out at their mother and beg: “Can you tell us that story again? About the handsome boy and the pretty girl-who’s-only-a-girl-sometimes?”

She chuckles and glances behind her. Her wife - the founder, and namesake of her pub, May - is standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the light pouring in from the hall. May gives her a nod, and Indrid turns back around. 

“Of course, my dears,” she tells her children.

When they’ve settled under their covers, she begins:

“There was once a boy and a girl-who’s-only-a-girl-sometimes, and they were in love. But the the girl-who’s-only-a-girl-sometimes thought that, since the boy only knew her as a girl, he wouldn’t like her if he found out that she was sometimes a boy like him, sometimes both a girl and a boy, and sometimes none of the above.”

Indrid’s children quiver under their covers in anticipation.

“But the girl-who’s-only-a-girl-sometimes never had to be ashamed because she’s isn’t anyone or anything to be ashamed of. She knew this all along, but had trouble fully believing it. Thankfully, some of her friends were there to set her right and cheer her on.”

“And as it turns out, the boy was on the same wavelength. So they lived happily ever after, the end.”

May lets out a laugh. “What a story!”

“Right?” Indrid stands and walks over to her wife. They kiss, and ignore the children as they fake gagging noises in the background. 

 

“I’ll never get tired of the happy ones.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking a lot about this notion of transness and it's relationship (lack thereof, really) to deception, especially in the context of intimate relationships. I wanted to read a happy story about this kind of thing, with a trans feminine person at the center, because I don't see that very often. And that combined with the key idea of Genderfluid!Draco Malfoy at the center, this fic was born. 
> 
> Also, I really wanted to feature community in this piece because it's such a big part of trans people's lives - especially trans feminine people. Trans community has an extraordinary power to heal and lift up, and since I'm proud of that fact, I wanted to depict it here.
> 
> As I am not a trans feminine person, I am obviously extremely fallible and not the voice of authority, so my takes in this fic should be taken with a very small grain of salt. I just thought that there seemed to be common threads between a lot of trans feminine and masculine people's experiences, and this is one of them, so I wanted to explore that a bit while drawing from my own experiences. Please let me know if I've said anything wrong or insensitive, and I will correct it ASAP! 
> 
> Also! I don't condone smoking! Pls don't smoke!


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